Chapter 2
Juliet
Heat blooms in my stomach, spreading to my cheeks as my eyes flutter open. The sexy, dark-haired, masked stranger consumed my dreams. Only the way he kissed me last night was definitely not a dream.
Wow.
I have no other word to describe it.
My lips tug into a smile as I recall the way he breathed that word only moments after we broke apart. The way I teased him and called him adorable because of it.
Who even am I?
I’m not the type to hook up with mysterious masked men at a sex club. Definitely not a younger man. Especially after what I’ve been through the past eighteen months.
My stomach twists.
The smile slips from my lips.
I have no right to feel happy right now.
The sound of little feet running down the hallway is the only warning I get before my bedroom door swings open, and the sweetest little four-year-old girl rushes in, her stuffed bunny clutched in her tiny hand.
“Hey, princess,” I say, helping her climb onto the bed.
“Morning, Mama.” Tinsley nuzzles her head into the crook of my neck, and I breathe in the scent of her innocence, pressing a kiss to the mess of blonde curls on the top of her head.
“Were you a good girl for Stella last night?”
“Yep. I ate all my brolloci and carrots, and we watched the Barbie princess movie, then I brushed my teeth and went to bed with Snuggles. He looked after me, so I didn’t have any scary dreams.” She holds up her bunny as proof.
My heart clenches as I squeeze her tight. I hate that my little girl has reason to have these nightmares. “I’m glad you had Snuggles to watch over you.”
She looks up at me with curious green eyes. “Did you have fun with Aunty Quinn?”
My traitorous brain goes straight to the toe-curling kiss with my masked man, and I clear my throat. “I sure did, princess. Come on. Let’s get up and make you some breakfast.”
“Can I have pancakes?”
“Of course you can.”
Tinsley throws her little arms around my neck and plants a soft kiss on my cheek. “You’re the best mama in the whole ‘tire world.”
Guilt weighs heavy in my stomach. I wish that were true, but if it were, my little girl would have no reason for her ‘scary dreams’.
Not to mention, I should have been here with her last night after her supervised visit with her father yesterday.
Seeing him every second weekend always seems to bring on the nightmares for her, although they are dwindling.
It’s been at least a month and a half since the last one.
Pushing those thoughts down, I paste on a smile and chase her down the hallway to the small kitchen in our cosy two-bedroom home.
It’s a far cry from the mansion she was born into on the other side of Beckford, but I’ve done my best to turn it into a comfortable and safe space for her.
She sits on a stool at the kitchen bench, chomping on blueberries and raspberries, supervising while I mix up the batter for her dairy-free and gluten-free pancakes. When I place the giant stack in front of her, her sweet face lights up like it’s Christmas morning.
It’s these simple things that reassure me I’m doing the best for my daughter.
I can’t change our past, but I can give her a better future.
Which is why I need to push all thoughts of last night’s hottest kiss of my life out of my head.
I don’t have room in my life for random hook-ups with hot strangers. Tinsley is my only priority.
The only reason I was at Euphoria last night was for my best friend’s hen’s party. She’s getting married in two weeks, and she’d heard about this sex club right here in Beckford that host masked nights once a month.
It took a fair bit of convincing to get me to leave Tinsley for the night. Quinn organised her eighteen-year-old niece, who occasionally baby-sits for me. I tried to back out twice, but my friends didn’t let me, saying I deserve to have some fun.
Being home now, seeing that Tinsley is fine despite me not being here to put her to bed for the first night since we moved in twelve months ago, lessens the guilt, but only slightly.
My little girl has been through so much in her four short years, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to her.
“Mama,” she says, peering at me with those wide green eyes. “Can I see Rett today?”
I smile and ruffle her hair. “Not today, Tins. Your brother had his friend’s birthday last night, so I don’t think he’ll be in any state to hang out today.”
She frowns. “Did he eat too much birthday cake?”
A laugh slips from my lips. “Something like that. He doesn’t start classes until Wednesday. I’ll see if he can take you to the park before then, okay?”
It warms my heart that she has such a good relationship with her half-brother.
While his dad is a violent arsehole, my twenty-year-old stepson is the reason we got out before it was too late for me.
He’s also the buffer between me and my ex-husband.
I didn’t hesitate when the court appointed him as the supervisor for Tinsley’s visits with her father.
While Everett may be indifferent to me, he loves his little sister, and I didn’t want my daughter subjected to a stranger.
I shoot him a text, then clean up the kitchen while Tinsley runs off to get dressed. The weather is nice, so we head outside, and she plays on her climbing frame. She giggles as she hangs upside down, bringing a smile to my lips. My daughter’s happiness is the only thing that matters to me.
As she plays, I sit beneath the giant oak tree, half-curled in the shade with my Kindle on my knee, reading a new paranormal rom-com about a woman who sells her soul to Satan’s son for a gluten-free donut.
It’s both funny and steamy, and when I reach the first intimate scene, my face flushes as I imagine what it would be like with my masked stranger.
My thumb drifts to my bottom lip, tracing it absentmindedly as my thoughts slip back to the kiss last night.
The firm pressure of his lips on mine, confident but not demanding.
The way he took control, deepening it just enough to steal my breath and leave my pulse racing.
Heat curls low in my stomach, and my cheeks heat, but it has nothing to do with the warm sunshine or my book.
If he kissed me like that, imagine what else he could make me feel.
My phone beeps with an incoming text, jolting me out of my daydream, and I check on Tinsley before reaching for my phone.
Everett: I have a preseason fitness session on Monday, but I can pick her up from preschool on Tuesday and drop her home after dinner. That work?
Juliet: She’d love that. If you’re sure?
Everett: Of course. I’m always happy to hang out with the pipsqueak.
Juliet: Thanks, Everett.
I pause before adding:
Juliet: For everything.
He doesn’t reply, and for a second, I wonder if I’ve made things more awkward between us.
Everett was fourteen when I started dating his father.
He was a surly teenager, either locked in his bedroom playing video games or outside kicking the soccer ball with his mates.
He wasn’t interested in building a relationship with the twenty-nine-year-old woman his dad had moved into their family home, and I was too lost in my grief to try.
I met Edward Mathers at the lowest point in my life. That’s not an exaggeration; it’s a truth that still tightens my chest.
My parents died in a home invasion gone wrong.
One minute they were there, only a phone call away, and the next they were gone, reduced to nothing but police reports and murmured condolences.
As an only child with no family in the country, I was completely lost. My aunt wanted me to return to France.
She meant well, but Australia is the only home I know.
We moved here when I was three. My parents are buried here.
Leaving felt like losing them all over again.
I’d been working in accounts at the Mathers Estate vineyard for eight months when they died, and that became my reason for getting out of bed in the mornings.
It was repetitive—numbers, invoices, spreadsheets—and the predictability helped me get through each day.
It didn’t ease the grief, though, and most days I spent my breaks crying in the staff bathroom.
Edward found me one day when I hadn’t been able to hold back the tears.
I was terrified of losing my job. He was a no-nonsense boss who expected perfection. People straightened when he walked into a room.
To my surprise, he sat me down, poured me a cup of chamomile tea, and asked me how I was doing. It wasn’t the arbitrary question everyone asked after my parents’ deaths. He listened, giving me a safe place to feel vulnerable.
He began popping in weekly, then daily to check on me. Eventually, he invited me to dinner, and I accepted. Edward was a steady presence in my lonely world, and I slowly fell for him. I didn’t hesitate when he asked me to move in with him and his son six months later.
The next year was a whirlwind of being swept off my feet by a charming older man. I never asked questions about Everett’s mother, and Edward didn’t offer any details. That should have been my first red flag.
The second should have been the strained relationship between him and Everett. But by the time I noticed how quiet Everett was, and how he would flinch when his father entered a room, I was already three months pregnant and sporting a massive three-carat diamond ring on my finger.
I glance down at that finger, free from the weight of that monstrous thing.
The sale of it and my wedding ring, along with all the other jewellery he’d showered me with to bury his guilt, was enough to pay for this small house outright—coupled with the insurance money from my parents’ deaths and a little extra help from my stepson.
I tried to refuse Everett’s money, but he said he was doing it for Tinsley, so I relented.
Having no mortgage allows me to comfortably work from home doing bookkeeping for a few small businesses in Beckford so I can be around for her.
After everything we’ve been through, I don’t trust many people with my daughter.
Tinsley started preschool last month, and I still struggle with leaving her in someone else’s care a couple of days a week, even knowing she loves it.
Deep down, I know I can’t let my anxiety hold her back.
Besides, the preschool is aware of our custody agreement and the ADVO out against my ex-husband.
He’s only allowed supervised visits with Tinsley once a fortnight.
Otherwise, he’s not to come within one hundred metres of either of us, and he can only contact me if it’s in relation to our daughter.
“Mama,” Tinsley calls, and I lift my eyes, finding her with a smile. “Watch this.”
My heart leaps into my throat as she swings her body in a front flip over a bar, but I laugh and cheer her on anyway. My little princess is fearless.
If only her mama could channel some of that.